Argentine
by Saerzion
Summary: In the months following the aftermath of the Kirkwall Rebellion, the queen of Ferelden travels across the Waking Sea to approach the new viscount, bringing with her a proposition of a clandestine and intimate nature. The clock ticks by as they settle on a contract, and once an agreement is reached, the events around them are set into motion.


**(9:38 Dragon)**

The portraits she'd seen of the man did him no justice in the aesthetic sense. He stood taller and broader than artists across Ferelden had depicted, his mere presence inserting a tangible sense of power in the quiet office. Even as his visage reflected weariness and a haunted quality she understood all too well, he wore the mantle of the viscount with fluent grace. His piercing blue eyes scanned the parchment she'd handed him, narrowing and dilating in clear tells of his reaction. A heavy, scarred hand came up to brush through his forest of dark facial hair, the rays of the midday sun hitting his dubious expression through the stained glass windows.

"Allow me to reiterate how appreciative I am that you graciously received my visit not long after Kirkwall's tragic events," she declared in a mitigating tone. "I trust you may have questions about this unconventional request?"

In a flash, irises the color of the sky snapped to her. "This… is this serious? I'm having trouble grasping the terms of such an arrangement. Especially when it's with you…"

She abandoned a modicum of her practiced poise and crossed her arms. "I'm afraid so. Even had you not become the new viscount, you come from a long line of nobility, and that is what makes you a candidate."

He returned his gaze to the message, disbelief and mild alarm etched across his features. From what she'd heard of the Champion of Kirkwall, speechlessness was not something he experienced. Ever. And yet here they stood, feeling the tense awkwardness develop as the silence drew on. She took the time to adjust the constricting bodice of her regal attire, and it took him several seconds more to find the next thing to say.

"You will have to forgive me. In light of—well, everything—I'm just expecting some sort of catch or belated stipulation or even a classic, 'No, actually, under royal decree, this is a joke meant to embarrass you while your city comes under attack again,' or something," Hawke told her. He set the parchment down on his cluttered mahogany desk before facing her fully. "But considering that you traveled all the way from Denerim to propose this in person, I have no choice but to conclude that—and I say this with utmost respect so please don't declare war on us—you, too, have gone mad."

 _Bold and plainspoken. Admirable traits._

Even though she appreciated his vain attempt at humor, she once again felt the faint echoes of a mysterious pull, still ignorant of its nature, but aware enough to recognize the backwards clock it imposed.

A countdown.

"I wish I could rely on madness as an excuse, but truth be told, it's desperation that brings me here," she confessed.

"Oh, well that makes me feel _much_ better," came the sarcastic reply. "I mean, we've just met, I've spoken to your husband _once_ before, and, considering who you are, don't you have your pick of candidates across all of Thedas? What makes me so ideal?"

"Considering who _you_ are, do you really have to ask?" she returned, stress and frustration sharpening the inflection of her voice.

"You say you seek someone from a noble background. There's a prince of Starkhaven here in the city."

"Sebastian Vael is a Chantry brother and has taken vows of chastity," she said flatly.

"What about Nathaniel Howe? I hear there was bad blood between your families in the past, but—"

"Nathaniel is a Grey Warden. For that same reason, your brother was also eliminated from consideration."

"Carver?" Hawke asked, displaying a look of revulsion. "Yes, good thing. He's still so uptight that even if he did agree to the task, he probably wouldn't be able to go through with it physically."

Although on the surface it seemed Hawke failed to comprehend the gravity of the matter, she noticed the intelligence and shrewd calculation in his stare. He analyzed situations in almost the same manner she used to, leading the conversation off on a tangent while seeking hidden intentions and veiled information. She felt some degree of kinship with him in this regard, seeing the potential bond they could have formed under different circumstances. Right now, however, the invisible thread tugged her will to an unknown direction, and a faint thrum glided across her skull to signify another few minutes of stolen time.

She shook her head and sighed. "We would have wanted to count on you for this, Hawke, but remember that you are free to refuse."

Presenting the idea was mortifying enough. Standing here and attempting to explain why he should agree to it was excruciating. And if she returned to Ferelden without succeeding in the objective, a certain _someone_ back home would pay for her humiliation and wasted efforts.

Fortunately, Hawke exhaled in a long and slow breath, dropping all cautionary appearances. "I am not saying no. I just want to understand what I'm getting into here. I can see your predicament and why this needs to be very discreet, but consider what you're asking of me. All titles, feats, and lineages aside, let me guess: you find me more favorable because of my reputation as a bachelor throughout my years in Kirkwall."

She nodded, seeing no point in denying it. "That did come into play when we compiled the list of candidates, yes."

"Well, here's the thing, and not many people know this. I was betrothed a few years ago to an Ostwick nobleman's daughter, although that ended very recently when word of the mage uprising spread and whatnot. Never mind that I supported the templars. Anyway, the point is, I may someday resign from bachelorhood and start my own family. Is this a factor that would affect my candidacy?" he inquired.

She had been unaware of his former betrothal, but determined it and any future ones inconsequential to the arrangement. "No."

"And my being a mage isn't a problem?"

"That is a risk we're willing to take."

Then, to her surprise, his eyes darkened.

"Will I have rights?" he demanded. "To see—"

"No," she stated at once, observing the dismay flit across his expression. In a softer tone, she cleared her throat and repeated, "No. I'm sorry. You cannot think of yourself as involved any further than this."

"Ah."

She waited as he silently worked through a bout of inner conflict, his indecision understandable and expected. The conditions of the request demanded much of the parties involved, but especially so for Hawke, should he accept. It perturbed her to realize how closely this development mirrored a crucial situation on the eve of the battle against the Archdemon. Everything from that point on had led to this, forcing her to repeat that which she had objected to. In light of avoiding the ultimate sacrifice, she had forfeited the right to complain, yet her resentment still festered.

Sometimes, despite all her achievements and acclaim, she wished for the simpler life promised to the young Highever girl erased by the Fifth Blight.

Hawke drew himself up at that moment, sending her a resolute look. "All right. So how will this work? If at first we don't succeed, try and try again? Multiple attempts may be hindered by the sea separating our countries, as I'm sure you're aware."

Her heart leapt with renewed hope before sinking back down at the reality of what his agreement entailed. "I will be the one to embark on several journeys here under the guise of establishing relations between Kirkwall and Denerim."

"Well, 'establishing relations' certainly won't be inaccurate," Hawke muttered, one corner of his mouth lifting into a wry smile.

She ignored the quip and gestured to the parchment. "There are, of course, boundaries outlined in the written details. We should discuss them further if you're certain you want to undertake this duty."

He hardly skipped a beat. "I'm certain."

Something in the way he said that skimmed curiously over her skin. "That's good to hear," she remarked, peering back at him. "Thank you, Hawke. This means more than you could know. To the monarchy, to Ferelden… to me."

He did not answer right away, choosing instead to watch her before stepping forward. "I'm glad to be of service. But if you will indulge me, I would like to know more about the factors that brought this on. I'm aware of the Grey Warden taint and the demands of the Fereldan throne, but there is something else you haven't told me. Given your survival after slaying the Archdemon all those years ago, I can only conclude that this is connected."

She stiffened. "You are correct. If you've the inclination to listen to the petty hang-ups of a jaded woman, I would be willing to share the truth of a choice we made the night before the battle." She could give him at least that much.

Hawke inclined his head, but then checked the ornate clock on his mantle and nodded toward the door. "Yes, and I look forward to that conversation. However, at this time, the banquet that the Champion of Kirkwall organized for the Hero of Ferelden is close to starting. It probably wouldn't do for both the host and the guest of honor to be absent from the event."

 _Ah, damnation._ She had actually forgotten about the formal portion of her visit.

Hawke must have noticed her reluctance to postpone the discussion because he strode to her side and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Don't worry, we'll pick this back up later tonight, I promise you."

"Tonight would indeed be preferable," she told him, completely deadpan even as he caught the insinuation.

"Oh. Well, I see your straightforward reputation holds true," he replied, coughing a bit. "Let's get through this obligatory public appearance, then, and we will see where the night takes us."

"Right."

The following minutes passed in a haze, and she eventually found herself standing alone behind a set of velvet drapes leading to the throne room. Sounds of citizens clamoring to catch sight of her drifted through the heavy cloth barrier, but she spared the noise little attention, too preoccupied with her own thoughts to worry about the impression she would leave during this affair. Then, too soon for her liking, the herald's announcement rang out around the keep.

" _Presenting Her Majesty, Queen Elissa Theirin, the Hero of Ferelden."_

Through the parting drapes, she straightened for the masses, bearing the weight of her titles and the price she still paid.

x-x-x-x-x

She winced when he let out a frustrated noise and lifted himself away, his fingers sliding out dry from between her legs. The silken sheets rustled beneath them as he shifted to a sitting position, the firelight from the hearth casting flickering shadows over the strong angles of his face. She sat up as well and pulled the comforter over her naked form, a surge of dismay sweeping over her at the apparent futility of the situation.

"This may be an impossible task," Hawke declared, echoing her thoughts. His gaze bore into her, dark and intense. "If I may be so blunt, the restrictions in place are a significant hindrance to… the process."

Long waves of jet black hair spilled over her shoulder as she looked away. "I know. But what would you have me do? They exist for the sake of the king."

He sighed at that and fidgeted with the collar of his open tunic. "Wasn't it the king who came up with this idea?"

"Yes, Alistair _would_ be the idiot who thought up this half-brained scheme," she responded in annoyance. "Just because _he_ was able to go through with a similar arrangement—"

Her words trailed off as the stabbing in her chest intensified. Seven years had passed since the night of the dark ritual, but unbeknownst to her husband, the memory still plagued her. She forcibly pushed it from her mind, unwilling to let another obstacle interfere with the matter at hand.

Hawke studied her in the soft glow of the flames. "It isn't too late to back out of this," he said quietly. "The depth of your pain shows in your eyes."

Elissa glanced at him, her grip tightening on the comforter. "Think nothing of it. We have already committed. We must see it through."

"Yes, but how much are you willing to put yourself through for your kingdom?" he asked her. Unbidden, his hand reached out to smooth a few tendrils of hair from her face. "It's a waste, almost, seeing such beauty overshadowed by melancholy. The minstrels did not lie when they sang of you."

She shrugged off the compliment, but did not pull away. "As long as I look acceptable enough for you to do this with, that will suffice."

He stared at her long and hard, something shifting in his expression. "How about this, then? I have an idea that may help this along."

"Name it."

"Just this once, lift the restrictions."

Elissa started, sitting up straighter. "I cannot."

"It would be better. You needn't think of it as more than a chore, but this way, I would be able to…" He trailed the backs of his knuckles over her jaw and down her neck, the contact eliciting a small gasp from her throat.

She swallowed when he reached her collarbones, reassessing the situation before it got out of hand. "The boundaries must stay. It would be too intimate otherwise."

Hawke chuckled then, a deep, throaty sound that challenged her resolution. "My queen, I will be plunging inside you—multiple times. That is already as intimate as it gets."

Not much could faze a woman like her, but his blunt wording brought on a rush of warmth. He had a point, she admitted. Still, she had to hesitate. Alistair's face floated into her vision, and although he had not been the one to establish limits on the process of the task, she recognized the fine line between duty and infidelity. She loved him; as strained as the feeling had grown over the years, she would do anything for him.

And that included going to these lengths to produce the coveted heir to the throne.

Elissa frowned, thinking it through. She'd always imagined Alistair and Morrigan's liaison during the dark ritual to be detached and straight to the point, given how the two had loathed each other. She had hoped to go about hers in the same way, but she hadn't anticipated her own tumultuous mindset interfering. However, they had gotten this far, and damned if she gave up on reason at this point.

"Very well," she declared, a new wave of anxiety washing over her. "We'll do this your way."

Hawke gave her a small smile, a gesture she assumed was meant to be reassuring. "Thank you. I will do my best to ease your apprehension."

She tried to focus on Alistair to distance herself from the situation, but it proved an impossible endeavor when Hawke pulled the comforter away from her. She knew her husband's touch inside and out, having memorized every mannerism, every inch of his body even with her eyes shut. And as soon as a foreign hand cupped her cheek, she felt the difference, the dissonance in her mind.

"No kissing," she said when Hawke leaned toward her lips.

He acquiesced and grinned. "A loss for me, but I understand."

Elissa's pulse began to race when he shifted to his hands and knees and crawled over her. She tried to focus on the outcome as he removed his tunic and undid the ties of his trousers. But when he caught the firelight at just the right angles, she noted the toned muscles of his chest and arms, a build more powerful than the average mage's. It had been nearly a decade since she'd lain with a man other than Alistair, and the sight of the Champion's enticing physique tempted her enough so that she had to avert her gaze.

"I… don't know how I should act," she stammered when he removed his trousers and bared himself to her.

"First of all, _look_ at me when I'm touching you."

He guided her by the chin to face him, and as she stared into the stormy blue of his eyes, she barely tensed when he brought his fingers to her sex again. He stroked her a few times, testing and exploring as she grew accustomed to the contact. Then, in one motion, he moved down between her legs, his lips a hairsbreadth from the junction of her thighs.

Mild alarm shot through her. "Wait—" _Only Alistair—_

But he ignored her protest, instead running his tongue along the length of her folds. A sound escaped her throat, and she had little time to react before he grabbed her hips and yanked her closer to his face. She fell back into the pillows as he pushed her legs farther apart, his mouth hot and wet against her cunt. Several thoughts raced through her head, namely the shame that spread when the first tendrils of arousal wrapped around her core. She struggled to focus, to tell herself this was necessary, but she couldn't deny the lewd pleasure that stemmed from the feeling of another man's tongue tending to her.

When he pushed two fingers inside her again, the slick moisture negated every excuse she could have given. "Ah, there we go," he quipped, lifting his head. And then he withdrew completely, leaving her empty and aching.

"Hawke." It sounded like less of a warning and more of a plea.

One glimpse of her visage, and the traces of a smirk appeared. "As you command."

He climbed back over her and recaptured her gaze, some invisible connection forging between them as he lined himself up and thrust into her.

x-x-x-x-x

 **(9:40 Dragon)**

Alistair smiled down at the gurgling baby in his arms, a sight that momentarily staved off the perpetual heartache. He detected Teagan's steady look from the doorway of the study, and he sighed before greeting the other man.

"Any news?" he inquired.

"It seems that Garrett Hawke has gone missing as well," Teagan replied, brow furrowing. "Word is, a Seeker is looking to capture and interrogate one of his former companions for his whereabouts."

Alistair frowned. "I see."

The newly ascended Arl of Redcliffe ventered inside. "We'll find her," he stated, albeit without his usual confidence. "She wouldn't leave this child of her own accord."

"I know." But did he really? Alistair stared down at his royal heir, the sleepy and drooling princess. "She looks so much like her."

Teagan nodded. "Good thing she didn't take after Hawke very much, eh?"

"Indeed." The king glanced out the window toward the setting sun. "You don't suppose they… no, never mind. I just want Elissa home and safe."

x-x-x-x-x

 **A/N:** Reposted. (Pre- _Inquisition_ ; assumes the whereabouts of Cousland and Hawke are still unknown.) I originally published this one-shot a few days before _Inquisition_ was released, then decided it should be a multiple chapter work, then changed my mind again and decided to leave it a one-shot. It could possibly be extended down the road when I have more time to work on my _Dragon Age_ stories, but for now, this is it. Thanks for reading!


End file.
